Paint By Numbers
by AsTheSun
Summary: A story following the years where Peeta and Katniss find their way back together after Mockingjay. Both pre and post epilogue. Written for Prompts In Panem - Peeta's Paintbox. Each chapter will be written from prompts based off of a color.


One - Seeing Red

_Written for Prompts In Panem - Round Six, Day One. The prompts were based around Peeta's Paintbox and day one was Red. _

I always thought that "seeing red" was just some turn of phrase left over from the Dark Days. There were more than a few floating around that no one could explain the origin of. I couldn't imagine what it referred to and never really used it myself, so I never much thought about it. Of course, that was before I saw Peeta with Savera Erwin in the bakery.

It had been just over a year since I had found him with primrose bushes in front of my house. Things were still a little uneasy between us, but Peeta joined me for at least one meal a day. Once Sae had stopped cooking for me, it was usually two. He was strangely careful about touching me. He didn't do it more than he had to and he was always cautious, as if he expected me to react badly. It reminded me of the way I would approach an animal I had just wounded.

Truthfully, I missed the days when I had the freedom to touch him as much as I wanted. Even if things had been staged, there was something natural about the way we touched. There were times when our hands were both on the table and I would have to fight the urge to take his in mine. When we sat in front of the fire or cooked together, I had to consciously stop myself from leaning against him. He fell asleep on the couch one night and I had barely stopped myself before my fingers plunged into his soft, blonde hair.

It was maddening. I finally realized that I cared for Peeta Mellark, maybe loved him, but as usual, I was too late. In the year he had been back he had not hinted that he wanted any kind of romantic relationship with me. There was friendship and fondness in his expression most days when he looked at me, but the love I had once known had never returned.

That was what made seeing him with Savera worse.

I had been coming to the back door with a squirrel. It was a kind of joke between us. I would bring my game to him like I had once done for his father. He would pretend to consider it, there was usually some teasing bartering, and finally he would present me with two small loaves of bread. That night, he would bring the game to my house for dinner and I would add the bread I had bartered from him to the table.

As I climbed the back steps, I saw him standing beside her at the work table. They were both wearing aprons and flour smudged their faces. Peeta was showing her how to work bread dough. As she pulled her fair, dainty hands out of the dough, large, gooey clumps clung to her fingers. She blew a blonde curl out of her face in frustration, making Peeta laugh. I stared in horror as he set his own bread dough aside and moved to stand behind her. His muscular arms wrapped around her and showed her how to kneed the dough so that it didn't stick to her fingers. She turned her face up to his, blue eyes crinkling with her smile.

That's when the edges of my vision darkened until it felt like I was trying to look into a train tunnel. Everything took on a red, hazy glow. I felt the squirrel drop from my fingers onto the porch behind the bakery and then I turned and walked quietly down the steps. Neither of them had noticed a thing.

I didn't know where I was going until I was pounding on Haymitch's door. When he didn't open it fast enough for my taste, I threw it open and stormed into his house. I knew his liquor supply had run out two days before and that he would be out at least one day more. That meant he was likely sober and sitting with his geese. Of course, my slamming into his house had brought him running quickly.

He took one look at my face and promptly burst into laughter.

I spun around and fled to my own house before I did something embarrassing, like burst into tears or start screaming my rage to the ceiling. Haymitch tried to follow me, but I had already thrown the locks by the time he got down his stairs. He beat his hand against my door a few times, but we both knew that I wouldn't come out.

I moped for the afternoon, not really doing any of the things that needed doing. It was easier to just sink into the blankness like I used to. That should have probably concerned me, but I couldn't be bothered. I found comfort in the silence and did my best to push the picture of Peeta and Savera out of my mind.

I heard knocking again, but ignored it. I don't know why I thought Haymitch could help me in the first place. He had regularly told me that I didn't deserve Peeta. He would find my newly discovered jealousy to be just what I deserved for keeping Peeta at arms length for all these years. It probably was, but that didn't mean I wanted to hear it from anyone, not even the drunken mentor that knew me so well.

The knocking stopped again and I sighed in relief. I'd be left alone until at least the morning. Maybe by then I would be able to pick up my morning routine again.

Suddenly, the sound of splitting wood and the scrape of metal filled the air. I recognized the uneven gait of Peeta's run on the wood floor. He was in front of me in seconds, kneeling down and taking my hands in his.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asked, eyes quickly looking me over for signs of injury, "Haymitch said you came over really upset, but wouldn't tell him anything. He said you ran off to your house and locked yourself in and that he couldn't get you to answer him."

He was so worried and so wonderful. I didn't bother trying to stop my hand as it came up to stroke his cheek. He tensed, but didn't pull away from my hand as his blue, blue eyes searched mine.

"I'm alright." I replied, "I bet he didn't tell you that he laughed at me when I came to his house for help."

"Well, no." His grin was a little lopsided with relief, "He conveniently managed to forget that part."

I'm finally able to draw my hand away. His eyes studied my face intently for a moment, "You're sure you're okay?"

I'm not, not by a long shot, but I'm not going to tell him that, "I'm fine. Shouldn't you be at the bakery?"

The concern is back in his eyes again, "It's almost dark. I shut the bakery down almost half an hour ago. I was coming by to see what was going on for dinner, since I found a dead squirrel on my back porch that won't be much good for cooking."

The afternoon had vanished in a blink. I was embarrassed. I pulled my hand free from his and climbed to my feet, "I'm sure I've got something in the icebox. Sorry. The day got away from me."

"That's alright. If you have any of that turkey from the other night we could make sandwiches." He says, grinning and holding up a loaf of bread, "I've got an extra loaf that's fresh from the ovens. It finished baking right before I shut down."

Knowing what I know of baking from what Peeta's told me, that means it was the loaf that he had been making with Savera. My fingers clench around the handle of the icebox. The red-hot rage that sent me to Haymitch's house flares up in my stomach. I want to slam the icebox shut and tell Peeta to take his damn bread to Savera. I also know that I have no right. I had the love of Peeta Mellark long before I ever knew it. Once I did know, I took it for granted. If I've lost it now, that is just what I deserve.

It doesn't mean I'm not still angry.

I force myself to take the requested turkey out of the icebox. I also pull out some cheese and bacon. The bacon won't take long to cook up and I've discovered I like the way that it tastes on a sandwich with turkey.

Peeta's already setting out a skillet and a few knives. He brushes against the back of me as we switch places in front of the stove. The warmth of him against my back is comforting, even if it is fleeting. I miss it almost immediately. I wonder if this was what it was like for him all those years. I was always nearby, but always just out of reach. I wonder how he didn't go mad.

He takes the cheese and turkey from me, setting it on the counter. Our fingers brush and I try not to notice the thrill that shoots through my hand. I put some strips of bacon in the skillet instead.

It's hard not to watch Peeta work. Gone are the days immediately following the hijacking and the shaking hands that went with it. His hands are the ones that used to make flowers that looked fresh picked for the cakes at the bakery. They're the hands that filled me with hunger on a beach one day so long ago. I squeeze my eyes shut a moment, trying to ignore that thought. When I open them again, Peeta's deftly slicing the bread he brought into even pieces. It's a plain, white bread with a golden crust that was very popular for toastings in the days before the rebellion. The rage simmers again and I look back at what I'm doing instead of him.

The bacon cooks quickly and I set it on a napkin to cool before we add it to the sandwiches. Peeta's already got them both finished and waiting for the bacon. I bring the napkin over and carefully set the warm strip on top of the turkey. He sets the second piece of bread on top of them and quickly cuts mine in half, just the way I like it. I look up at him in surprise.

"It's weird. I can barely remember how to tie my shoes some mornings, but I somehow knew that you always cut your sandwiches that way."  
>He gives me a grin, "Weird, right?"<p>

"Yes, very." I say, but I smile back to take the sting out of the words. He holds out my plate and this time I'm ready for the brush of his fingers on mine.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened today?" Peeta asked, "I mean, I guess a dead squirrel could have poked its own eye out and fallen dead on my porch, but it's pretty unlikely."

"No." I scowl at my sandwich and then take a vicious bite out of it.

"No?"

His surprise would be amusing if I wasn't so furious. I mutter something unintelligible and keep eating. Peeta takes a bite out of his own sandwich, but thankfully doesn't press. The silence is a little uncomfortable, but I'd prefer a little discomfort to the truth.

Thankfully, Peeta is good about filling the silence, "So, I had a strange request at the bakery today."

I don't say anything, but he continues anyway, "You know Savera Erwin, right?"

My fingers clench so tightly around the second half of my sandwich that my fingers tear the crust off the soft bread. I try to make it look deliberate and tear a piece of the crust off to pop into my mouth, "I do."

"She came in and asked me for baking lessons today."

I glanced over at him to find him smiling broadly. I haven't seen him smile like that in a long time. I drop the sandwich back onto my plate before I mangle it. I'm not that hungry anyway. I grabbed my plate and took it to the counter. I'd wrap the rest up to eat later.

Peeta continued talking as he took bites from his own dinner, "Well, one lesson in particular, actually. She asked me how to make this particular kind of bread. She's getting married and I guess in her family the bride makes her own toasting bread. Her mother never got the chance to teach her the recipe so she asked for my help."

I look back at him in surprise, "Married?"

"Yeah, to one of the fellows who moved here from Eleven. He asked her to marry him a few weeks back." Peeta pushed his empty plate back from the edge of the table, "I'm sure you've seen him around. They're very happy. She's going to take it home tonight and surprise him. Neither of them has any family left to speak of, so she doesn't think he'll mind. They're going to fill out the paperwork in the morning. I'm going to bring them a berry tart in the morning as a gift."

I turned back to wrapping the sandwich, feeling like such a fool. Savera was making her toasting bread under Peeta's eye. She was practically already married. She didn't want Peeta. The relief made me a little giddy. Peeta wasn't mine, but he hadn't been taken from me yet.

I didn't realize Peeta was behind me until his warm breath brushed my ear, "Now, do you want to tell me what happened today?"

I spun in his arms, surprised to find that he had me boxed in against the counter. I looked up into his eyes, surprised by the intensity of his gaze. His lips curled up in a tiny smile. His thumbs brushed up against the outsides of my pants, very nearly touching the skin at the edge of my shirt.

I tensed slightly, "You're touching me."

Some of the confidence faded from his face. His thumbs quit moving, but he didn't move his hands, "I- yeah. Is that okay?"

"You just… you never touch me." I force myself to relax, "It's okay. Good."

I realize that he's been touching me all night. He took my hands without hesitating when he came in. He brushed against me more often and touched my hands every time we handed something back and forth. It had been so natural, so like before, that I hadn't even realized it until now.

I can see him relax a little, "Good."

He's waiting expectantly and I think back over the past minute to try and figure out why. My brain had shorted out a little when he breathed on my ear. Just thinking about it sends a chill down my spine. He must feel it, because his smile widens a bit. His thumbs don't resume their torturous movement and I can't tell if I'm disappointed or not.

I remember now, he wanted to know what happened. I know I could just lie about it. He'd accept it and things would likely go back to the way they had been. He's giving me the chance to change our relationship. Like so many things between us, he's letting me do this on my terms. I don't want to lie. This time, it's between me and Peeta and no one else. There's no cameras from the Capitol or Thirteen. There's no one telling me how to feel or what to say.

I let out a little sigh, "I came up to the bakery and saw you with your arms wrapped around Savera as you showed her how to knead bread. It was just such a surprise and I was… well…"

"Jealous?" He asked, grinning.

"Angry." I shot back, giving him a shove. He doesn't so much as sway under my touch, "She looked up at you and you both looked so happy and I was just so angry. It looked like something it wasn't and I just… I figured that if you had someone, you would have at least have told me. We eat lunch and dinner together most days!"

"We're friends." He supplied. He reached up and caught my hands again, holding them against his chest. I could feel the steady beat of his heart, "If I had someone, you'd be the first to know about it. Promise."

The double meaning of those words is not lost on me. Despite everything we've been through, he's here and waiting for me again. He's mine if I want him. I'm a little surprised to find that I do.

Thankfully, he let me go before I did something stupid like kiss him. We've bridged the gap that's been between us since I admitted that I didn't love him the way he thought after the first Games. Neither of us is ready for more than that yet, but we've opened the way for something more one day.

"Of course, if you leave dead animals on my back deck to stink in the sun, all bets are off."

I can feel the red heat of a blush creep up my neck and quickly busy myself in the kitchen to try and hide it. I can tell by his laughter that I haven't, but I'm so glad to hear him laugh that I don't really care.


End file.
